


Brumous

by soulofme



Series: Youth [4]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Forced Soulmates, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Unrequited Love, i swear the next part of this series will be lighthearted omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8523409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulofme/pseuds/soulofme
Summary: No one rejects their marks. It’s unheard of. So then why am I? Why am I doing this unthinkable thing?Why am I…different?





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mmmrrrw](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmrrrw/gifts).



> I always intended to write more of the soul mate au I posted for the [third](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8394631/) installment of this series. This was largely inspired by Estelle, who made me think about what extremes people would go to if they disagreed with their mark. I just had to write another part of this. I hope you all enjoy! I promise the next story in this series will be a hell of a lot less depressing.

“So…you’re him, right?”

I swallow thickly past the lump in my throat and force myself to nod. He reaches up to rub the back of his neck sheepishly. It’s the seventh time he’s done it since I got here. I’ve been counting.

“And you’re…?”

“Oh.” His eyes widen a bit. “Jean. Jean Kirschstein.” He pauses and looks at me carefully. “We go to school together. I think. You’re friends with Armin, right?”

“Did your research, huh?” I mumble, my lips curling into an amused smirk without my permission.

“Ah, sorry,” Jean says quickly, eyebrows furrowing together. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s fine,” I say. “I was just messing with you. No worries.”

“Right,” Jean says, pressing his lips together tightly. He rubs at his arm.

I try not to look at the cerulean orchids flowing down the length of his forearm. They’re beautiful. The centers are lighter, almost white, and they’re a shocking contrast to the rich bronze of his skin. The stems are a dark blue, a navy that’s practically black, and the outer edges of the petals remind me of the sky. I’m captivated by the sight.

It doesn’t even matter to me that I have the same exact image etched onto my own skin.

Jean meets my eyes before looking away quickly. I smile diplomatically and try to ignore the heat thrumming deep within my veins. The irritation I feel towards my current predicament is nothing new. I tend to get fired up about a lot of things, but it feels almost cruel to take my frustrations out onto Jean.

He’s alright, I guess. I’ve never spoken to him much. We had an intense rivalry as children, but it had all calmed down by the time we got to high school. I haven’t seen much of him the older we got, and now he’s suddenly here in front of me. I guess it really is a small world.

Jean suddenly yanks his sleeve down. I look up and try to meet his eyes again, but he’s staring determinedly at a spot on the floor.

“I’m in a relationship,” he says carefully. He looks like he’s waging war on himself, and I wonder if now’s a good time to tell him that I’ll never love him.

“Really?” I say. It’s meant to sound like a question, but I end up sounding knowing. Apathetic, cold, and even, as if the idea of my soul mate being intimate with someone that isn’t me doesn’t bother me.

It doesn’t, for the record.

“Yeah,” Jean says, slowly and cautiously, like he thinks I’m gonna explode any second now. “I just thought we’d never…y’know.”

“Yeah,” I say, my voice soft. “I know.”

He shifts in his seat. It creaks under his weight.

“I’ll break it off,” he says, and then pauses. “Ah…probably should’ve done that sooner. Sorry. I didn’t mean to disrespect you-”

“You didn’t.” I pause, trying to find my words. “You couldn’t have. You didn’t know.”

Jean nods and I wonder if he’s really listening to me.

“I know. But still. Sorry. For…”

“It’s fine,” I say. “It doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?” Jean sounds curious. Surprised, even, and I catch him staring at my mark. I regret my choice of clothing. My bare arm is there for all to see. The colors on my skin are vibrant, fresh, and new, and anyone looking at me would instantly know that I had found my soul mate.

“Yeah, well…” I shrug, at a loss for words. “At least we know each other. From back when we were kids.”

“Oh,” Jean says. “Oh, right. Yeah. Forgot.”

“Yeah,” I say. I can tell the conversation has gone stagnant, that the words we want to say won’t come out. I long to get up and walk out without another word. I long to pretend that this isn’t happening to me.

I can’t. That’s not reality. The reality of the situation is that we’ve bonded. We’ve found what some people go years without. I’ve talked to some of my mom’s friends, the ones who’ve never found their soul mates. I sat there and listened as they told me about the indescribable pain they’ve felt. _There’s someone out there for me_ , they had told me, their faces weary and showing the full extent of their emotional turmoil, _there’s someone out there that I can’t find, and that’s what gets me._

I look at Jean.

It was fine that I didn’t know where he was or what he was doing. In fact, I rather enjoyed my solitude. My days consisted of work and school and not much more. I only had to worry about being someone’s son, a student, a friend. They were easy, familiar roles that I accepted without a second thought.

But now I had to be a lover.

I had to devote my heart to someone I didn’t love, someone whose mark matched mine. I had to trust something foreign and unfamiliar to me. It wouldn’t be easy meshing our lives together, and I couldn’t help but to think that this would never work.

I thought of someone else, suddenly. Someone who I trust, someone I’m comfortable with. Someone whose mark is different than mine, someone who hasn’t found his match, and someone who I think I _actually_ love.

I can’t help but to think that the world is a cruel, cruel place.

* * *

Levi looks up at me when I get close enough, standing up from his slouched position against his car. It shines brilliantly in the afternoon sun. He’s always been really meticulous, and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s the same way with his car.

“Hey,” he says carefully. He’s testing the waters. He does that a lot. He’s calculated and observant.

“Hey,” I say back. My voice sounds gruff and tired, and I guess it’s because I’m exhausted. I hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. I had stayed up scouring the web for stories of people like me, people who hated the colorful little mark on their body, but I found none. Those who expressed that they had little to no attachment to their soul mates later went on to write about how much they had grown to love them. No one rejects their marks. It’s unheard of.

So then why am I?

Why am I doing this unthinkable thing?

Why am I… _different_?

Levi pockets his phone and looks at me, his eyebrows creasing together with concern. He drags his eyes down my body slowly, and is about to look away when I shove the sleeve of my hoodie up. He stares at the mark on my skin.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispers, his eyes wide, and he reaches forward like he’s gonna touch it. “You…”

“I don’t want it,” I say, the words spilling out from my mouth like they’ve got a mind of their own. “I don’t want it, I don’t want _him_ , I want…I want…”

His eyes flash dangerously before he goes calm. His shoulders slump and he looks like he’s going to fall. I hold my hands out for him, just in case, but he steps back and leans against his car again.

“When?”

“Yesterday morning,” I say, my throat feeling a little tight. “I was heading to psychology and it started burning like hell. He stopped right when I did and I just…knew. He came up to me and then it changed color.”

I decide not to detail the crippling dread that had filled me when Jean had walked over to me. I leave out how my heart pounded uncontrollably, about how my chest felt really tight, almost like my breath was stuck in my lungs. I don’t tell him about how I had patted my pockets for my inhaler even though I wasn’t having an asthma attack.

I don’t tell him about how _scared_ I was…how scared I _am_.

“Who is it?”

“Jean. Jean Kirschstein.” My words are sharp and clipped. “Our age. Soccer player. Helped bring the team to victory at states. Four-point-oh average. Perfect in every damn way.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and drums his fingers against his arm.

“You know him, right?”

“Does it matter?”

He looks pointedly at my mark. I swallow roughly.

“He’s seeing someone.”

Levi lifts his head up at that and looks at me with shock.

“And you’re okay with it?”

“He’s not mine,” I say instantly. He looks at me silently before he laughs bitterly.

“He kinda is,” he says, jerking his head in my general direction, and my mark burns viciously.

* * *

“Levi.”

He looks up from the ground. He looks out of place on my porch, but it’s a welcome sight. I step back into the house so he can come inside.

“I can’t stay for long,” he says warningly.

“I know,” I say.

He nods and shrugs off his jacket. I look at his wrist. The chrysanthemum is still black. It’s a good sign, I guess, and when I take his jacket to hang it up I feel lighter.

The silence between us is so thick I can practically taste it. I linger beside him awkwardly, my eyes searching his face for some sort of warmth. There’s nothing, though. He looks as impassive as usual, and I can instantly tell he’s put his mask back on.

I swallow roughly and lead him into the living room. We sit on opposite couches and stare at each other.

“Are you getting married after high school?” he murmurs. It’s not a strange question. Most people married their soul mates shortly after finding them. My own parents had gotten married right out of high school. Jean told me his parents had done the same.

“I don’t want to get married,” I tell him. Levi frowns.

“Why not?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “He’s your soul mate, right? You’re gonna be with him for the rest of your life anyway.”

The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

“I can’t marry him.”

“Why? Scared?”

“I don’t love him.”

“Yet.”

“Never,” I correct firmly. “I’ll never love him.”

Levi purses his lips.

“That’s a strong word,” he says, drumming his fingers idly against the arm rest of the couch. “You sure you mean it?”

“I don’t want him,” I mutter. “I want _you_.”

“Eren-”

“There are two ways to get rid of a mark,” I say. My late-night searches had finally brought me something useful, knowledge that I fully intended to employ.

Levi’s eyes go wide.

“Eren!”

“The first is falling out of love,” I say, ignoring his pleading tone. “It’s rare, though. Really rare. Make sense, though, considering the whole soul mate thing.”

“Stop,” Levi whispers before I’ve even gotten to the next point. “Just stop, Eren.”

“The second is death,” I say. “It’s more common. It hurts a hell of a lot more than option one, though. The person left behind never gets over it. They’ll never get another soul mate either. They become doomed to live empty, hollow lives until they die themselves.”

Levi releases a sharp breath. It shatters the tense silence that’s formed between us.

“Would you do that?” he asks, his voice soft and fragile. “Would you ruin him like that?”

“No,” I say instantly, but the truth is that I’m not sure. Jean doesn’t deserve that, but I’m selfish. I’m not thinking of him.

I’m thinking of _me_.

He sinks back into the couch at that.

“You told me that was cheating, didn’t you?” he says. “Said we were betraying our soul mates. You remember that? You remember when we were in that closet and _you_ fuckin' told me-”

“I was scared,” I cut him off, my chest tightening.

“You told me it wasn’t okay.”

“I didn’t mean it,” I say. My eyes burn but I continue talking. “I love you. I love _you_ , damn it.”

He looks at me impassively, and I wonder if my words really had no effect on him. But then I see the pain in his eyes, the fear and the anger, and I realize he’s feeling the same way I am.

“You didn’t even give him a chance,” Levi mutters.

“I don’t want to,” I say. “I just…”

“I know,” he says quietly. “I know, Eren.”

He releases a shaky breath and leans his head back so he’s staring at the ceiling. I have the overwhelming urge to touch him, but I refrain and hold my hands in my lap limply.

“It’ll be me and you, okay?” I say, my voice firm and determined.

“Okay,” Levi murmurs, and turns his head towards me. “Me and you. Okay.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I had been holding.

* * *

I’m scared.

The ocean is open and endless, free of borders and limits. It reminds me of how I used to be, back before my mark was filled in.

I look away from it and curl my toes into the sand. I shiver and stare at my bare feet. Our shoes and socks and jackets are abandoned in a heap behind us.

“We don’t have to,” Levi says. He’s staring off at something in the distance. “We can just let everything stay the same. We’ll live through it.”

“That’s not living,” I murmur. “That’s just getting by.”

He looks at me sharply. I squeeze his fingers tight enough to hurt.

“Scared?” I ask.

“Nervous,” he corrects. He rocks forward a bit and my heart all but stops. “Are you sure about this?”

I nod.

“I want this,” I say. “I want you.”

“Okay,” he mutters. “Okay, Eren.”

He walks forward a bit and waits. I step up beside him, and we keep doing that until the water’s at our hips. My heart is hammering in my chest.

“Eren,” he says, getting my attention. We take a few more steps and the water’s up to his chest. “I love you.”

“I know,” I say, and before I know it our heads are underwater.

I exhale and water fills my mouth. The air in my lungs bubbles out. I open my eyes and look at him. He stares back at me, his hair flowing gently around his face, and I try to keep my eyes on him for as long as I can. My head feels like it’s going to explode from all the pressure around me and my entire body feels numb.

Looking at him makes me feel warm, though, and the heat inside of my chest seems to grow bigger and bigger. The water feels like a soft caress now, and I only look away from him long enough to look at my arm.

My mark seems to glow in the darkness of the water. And then, just as the pressure in my head becomes too much and my lungs feel like they’re going to explode, the light goes out. I’m left in complete darkness, Levi’s cold hand still cradled around my own, and yet…

I’m not scared.


End file.
